Originally posted 7/24/2013.

A mating I love to watch
is that of damselflies:

him arcing his abdomen back
to clutch her.  Her looping 
her abdomen forward to seize him.
After lighting, thus linked,
for motionless hours on the edge
of marsh grass,
they then break free of the spell
to fly off separately,
not to meet again.

After observing this countless times
on just this one afternoon,
I’m somewhat of an expert.  
I should cash in on that;

I could look up formal names, write 
a treatise on the aerodynamics
of love or an essay on the history
of common natural imagery
used in romantic poems —
and I know I would kill it
if I did write it,

but honestly?
I would much rather
lie here in sunlight with you,
practicing our own catalog
of such poses, delighting
in the sensation of flight.